The Dragonborn's Wedding
by ThatBlueScreenGuy
Summary: They say everyone cheered on the day of the wedding of the Dragonborn. As it turns out, however, not everyone was quite as pleased as thought.


They say that everyone in Skyrim cheered at on the day of the Dragonborns wedding.

At the very least, it was a pleasant day in the northern province. The sky was clear and blue, the winds were gentle and chilled- as was expected with Skyrim weather. Everything seemed to be at peace. The bandits seemed to take a day from their robbery, the dragons had seeming disappeared for the day. No one was in need of any help, and there was peace for everyone in the Nordic nation.

It was a perfect day for the wedding of the Dragonborn.

He had been waiting for this day for months. There had been much planning, talking, shopping, and compromises that had to be done in order for the wedding to even have a date, let alone be set up. During this time, the Dovahkiin had worried about whether things would go right. His entire life since he left Helgen had been a mess of fighting, blood, death, and destruction. His luck, or perhaps fate, had always lead him knee deep into a situation where his life was on the line, and it was always either him or the enemy that would walk away.

Then he had met her.

She had somehow stumbled her way into his chaotic life, all beautiful smiles and pretty eyes. The two of them had been through much together, even outside of the rigorous life of adventuring. They had made each other laugh, they shared secrets with each other that they thought they would never share, they held one another when times became desperate, and they had come to love each other like none other could. The Dragonborn would always remember the first time he had seen her, when his mind had come to an utter halt at the sheer energy- the sheer _life_ \- that seemed to radiate off her, giving her a glow that he had never seen before.

So, when the time came that he asked her to marry him, she had said yes without a moments hesitation and tears of joy streaming down her face. For the Dragonborn, life had started to look up for him.

The newly-engaged couple had set right to preparing for the wedding. They went shopping for the flowers, the clothes, sent invitations to friends, and did any number of other things that were a requirement for a wedding. But in the middle of their planning, their luck seemed to strike again, as the Jarl of Whiterun had offered to house the wedding for them, all expenses paid. _It only seems proper_ , the Jarl had said, _that I repay my hold's Thane in this matter. For all he has done for us, this is but a small token to show all our thanks._

The preparations had been taken care of by the Jarl of Whiterun, and the couple were ready for the wedding itself.

Of course, between all this, there had still been the adventurous side of life. The Dovahkiin was a very influential man, being the leader of many organizations. There were always crypts for him to explore, always bandits for him to hunt, always magic spells to learn, valuables to be stolen, contracts to be assassinated, another dragon to slay. Life had never gotten dull for the Dragonborn, despite the domestic side of life taking a larger hold on him than it ever had before.

These adventures had obviously been a topic for the new couple many times. The Dragonborn's wife-to-be was always worried about him whenever he left on his travels. They had talked, and argued, and fought over these things. But never- not once- did this ever get in between the couple. Adventure and danger were a part of the Dragonborn's life, and anyone who wished to be a part of his life would have to accept that.

The couple's talks about the Dovahkiin's adventures had grown fewer and fewer the closer the date of the wedding came. And on the day of the wedding, nothing else was in either of their minds.

When the time came for the Dragonborn to put on his formal attire and make his way to where the ceremony would be held, nerves had started to creep into his gut, and he began to wonder just what he was doing.

He never had a thought about leaving his bride at the altar- he loved her too much to do something like that. But the sheer size of the situation before him, and the subsequent changes it would bring, were something that gave him pause. Here he was, the fabled Dragonborn of legend, the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, the Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Harbinger of the Companions, about to get married. He would allow himself to be tied to another for the rest of his life, the two of them dependant on each other. If something were to happen to her, if she were to die by a bandit, or assassin's blade, or just some utter tragedy, there was no doubt in the Dragonborn's mind that he may very well go along with her.

This woman would become his one weakness, his Achilles heel. And he was ready to declare to the world that such a thing existed. With the enemies that he's made, they may very well go after her to get to him.

But there was no time for such thoughts, as the ceremony was about to be underway. If he were late for his own wedding, his bride would never let him live it down.

As the Dragonborn stood at the altar, waiting for his bride to come through the door, he stared off into the crowd that had gathered in the city of Whiterun.

The wedding was taking place outside, given that it was such a beautiful day. There were masses of people standing on the streets, all waiting expectantly for the bride to come forward. From where the Dragonborn had stood, he could see many faces that he recognised. Brynjolf, his lieutenant in the Thieves Guild, was in attendance, as were Tolfdir from the College, all the Companions, Nazir from the Brotherhood, though in less conspicuous clothing, all his housecarls, and many of the friends that he had made of his adventure through Skyrim. He had even convinced the Jarl of Whiterun to allow Paarthurnax and Odahviing into the city (they hung around on the city walls, being so big and all). It did the Dragonborn's heart good to see so many of his friends all in one place, to wish him congratulations.

The ceremony had gotten underway quickly, and when the Dragonborn's bride had made her appearance, his breath had hitched in his throat. He had heard the stories (mostly from his late father) that a woman in her wedding dress was about as beautiful as she could get. The Dragonborn had always thought that that be an exaggeration, something that was thought of in the moment of the wedding itself, with emotions high and passions flared. But now that he was here, experiencing it for himself, he couldn't help but agree. The simple, flowing white gown had been enough to turn the lovely woman into a living goddess among men. Even the goddess Dibella herself would look on in envy of the beauty that the blushing bride was showing.

The ceremony had started, and all had gone perfectly. They had said their lines as they needed, they had shed tears of the joy of the occasion, and just as the 'I do's were about to be said, that's when, naturally, something went wrong.

The Dragonborn had expected it, really. Given the life he had lived, it only made sense that his luck not stop for something as menial as a wedding. There was tragedy to be had, and the Divines had felt it necessary to try and ruin the Dragonborn's day.

He just hadn't expected it to go _so_ wrong, _so_ fast.

The first thing that happened was the gates to the city of Whiterun had burst open, and soldiers in elaborate Imperial armors stormed into the streets. The Penitus Oculatus had made their appearance, ready, willing, and able to ruin the wedding of the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood; the very man who had assassinated the Emperor. The soldiers had their heads held high, their swords, shields, and bows at the ready, and what could have only been the commander of the group shouted, "Bring me that assassin's head!"

The next thing that went wrong was the seemingly random men and women in the crowd that drew their weapons, dawned amulets of Stendarr, and ran forward, ready to cut down the daedric influenced madman that was getting married. The Vigilants of Stendarr had made their appearance, and given that the Dragonborn had made pacts with the majority of the daedric princes, he had no doubts that the Vigilantes were after him.

Somewhere else, a large group of Thalmor soldiers made their way into the fray, casting spells and shouting at their enemies. The Dragonborn had only dealt with the Thalmor a handful of times, but any of those times would warrant for them to hunt after the Dovahkiin. Be it when he crashed Elenwen's party, or when he had killed the power mad mage Ancano, he had given them plenty of reasons to chop off his head.

There was also a large crashing sound, as one of the walls of the city was crushed in. The Dawnguard flooded their way in through the hole, shouting their battle cries and their hatred for vampires. From some dark alleyway, vampires of every shape and size stormed into the street, completely unconcerned with the sun, and met the Dawnguard head on. The Dragonborn had thought that he had thoroughly tricked both groups into complacency, but it had turned out that they simply were gathering strength, preparing to attack the wedding (both Dawnguard and vampire were under the impression that the Dragonborn was still working for the opposite group, as he had done work for both, and his loyalties proven flimsy).

From a seemingly random building, a large group of warriors stormed out of the doors, silver weapons at the ready, prepared to strike the nearby werewolves down. That particular appearance had surprised the Dragonborn, as he thought he had destroyed the Silver Hand. Maybe he had, but there were enough warriors swinging their swords around to do some real damage, actual Silver Hand members or no.

To make matters worse, large and thunderous roars sounded throughout the air, and dragons could be seen flying through the air space. But one dragon wouldn't have been a problem for the Dragonborn. Two would have been dangerous, but feasible. Three would be entering serious risk of death. But there were more than three. There were seven total dragons flying through the skies, spewing flames from their mouths, shouting in their draconic tongue for the head of the Dovahkiin.

All of these events happened within the same ten seconds of each other, and there was a lot to process in such a short time. The crowds of innocent bystanders had screamed and scattered, the Companions drew their blades to met the silver clad warriors, Nazir ran for the nearest dark corner, farthest away from the Imperial soldiers as he could get. Brynjolf had stared, slack jawed at the goings on around him. He was a thief, not a warrior, and was a bit inexperienced and out of date with such things. The city guard were all but useless as they tried, and failed, to calm the citizens, and they were unsure of just who was the enemy, and who they should be aiding. The Thalmor, thus, went unmolested, and were the first to reach the steps where the Dragonborn stood in utter shock. The two friendly dragons had lifted off to combat the invading wyrms, and their shouts could be heard from the next hold over.

And while all this happened, the Dragonborn couldn't help but think, _Well, this is just typical…_

They say that everyone in Skyrim cheered on the day of the Dragonborn's wedding.

Clearly, those that say such things weren't actually _there_.


End file.
